


If You Want To Go To Heaven You Should Fuck Me Tonight

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Smut, Tiny Bit of Hurt/Comfort, Wives, and then, married, sin - Freeform, this is just, this is just so much smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: Mor has spent the day in the Court of Nightmares and returned raw and exhausted. She sets about trying to finish her report but Nesta, woken by Mor’s frustration, joins her wife and takes matters into her own hands in order to calm her down. F/F NSFW. very NSFW. This is just.....like...over 10k words of sin. Enjoy. 
Mor has to bite her lip to contain her whimper at this words. Reaching up again she very firmly grips her desk once more, fingers biting into the wood so hard they turn white. Her other hand braces around Nesta’s waist, the tightness in the gesture, the way she pulls Nesta against her, at odds with her next words, “I have to finish this report for Rhys, Nes.”
Nesta glowers darkly at this. “Rhys took you away from me all day.” She whispers, running her hands softly through Mor’s hair. “He can wait.”





	

Mor curses violently, slapping her hand across the table and allowing it to connect with her ink pot. The little bottle soars across the room before striking the wall and shattering. Ink leaks down the walls like black blood and the sight of it only causes Mor’s frustration to peak. Slumping forwards, elbows balanced on the desk she digs her fingers into her hair, holding her head up.

Her body trembles, exhaustion and fear gnaw at her nerves like rats chewing on the walls and she’s slowly starting to be worn away by it. The letters on the few lines of the report in front of her that she’s actually managed to write blur and meld together and it’s with great difficulty that she avoids giving up entirely, resting her head in her arms and calling it a day.  

It’s been a long one at that. The Court of Nightmares always leaves her feeling raw, even now, centuries after her escape. Going back down in there always feels like descending into her own nightmare. Memories inevitably swarm around her like flies around a corpse and she wants nothing more than to leave. The act of the cold, ruthless queen she plays as she sits upon her throne and presides over them all is just that, an act, one she finds increasingly difficult to maintain.

Today she had been trapped down there for nine hours with various unsettling petitions, disputes and arguments that had needed to be resolved. She still carries the tension of the visit in her locked, knotted muscles. All she wants is a hot mug of strong tea, with perhaps of pinch of the whiskey Cass gave her last solstice, a warm fire, and soft arms around her.

As though in answer to this she feels Nesta’s small, delicate hands slide up around her shoulders, massaging, thumbs working the hard knots out of her muscles. Mor can’t suppress the groan that comes from her at the feeling of her partner’s hands on her.

Reaching back, she clumsily pats Nesta’s hand with her own. It’s the only feeble greeting she feels capable of, mired as she is in this heavy darkness that clings to her limbs like thick, black mud, sucking her down. As she does so however Nesta leans forwards, kissing at her neck and nuzzling there with an affection few ever see. The knowledge of that, that this roaring hellcat is a pliant, warm little kitten just for her always sends a pleasant little rush through her, no matter what else is going on.

“Hey,” she breathes quietly onto Mor’s neck, resuming her gentle nuzzling a moment later.

Mor lets out a pathetic half-whine, half-groan in response, breath huffing out as Nesta’s arms wrap softly around her neck and she drapes herself against her back. “Did I wake you?” Mor asks, and isn’t surprised to find her voice hoarse, throat scratchy and raw.

“Yes,” Nesta says simply, hot breath tickling the back of Mor’s neck. Never one to sugarcoat things. Her bluntness coaxes a faint smile from Mor. But there’s no anger or irritation in her answer, she knows, only fact.

“What did that ink pot do to you?” she asks, eyes suddenly becoming heavier, full of a deep, stirring emotion. Her voice drops too, sliding into that rich, sultry purr she uses when she wants to make heat flood straight between Mor’s legs, smooth as honey, soft as velvet.

Mor suppresses a shudder as, on top of that, Nesta snakes forwards and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. “It was the only thing that’s pissed me off today that’s been breakable,” she grinds out instead.

Nesta stiffens against her, barely, but enough to tell Mor that she’s bothered by where she spent her day and what she had to deal with. Nesta might be aloof sometimes, might come off as cold even, but she isn’t emotionless. Mor can feel her rage burning through her, can almost see the pure, undiluted hatred in those blue eyes that must now burn like chips of ice.

“You could break all of those bastards,” she says, the faint trace of a snarl in her voice. Her fingers trail idly through the hair at the nape of Mor’s neck, a warm tenderness at odds with the frigid steel in her tone when she snaps, “All of them. For how they think of you, how they _look_ at you.” Nesta’s hand grips her waist possessively and Mor feels a rush of affection pulse through her for the female at her back, arms around her, where she wants to be right now, where she _needs_ to be. “Rhys wouldn’t mind.”

Mor sighs faintly. No, Rhys wouldn’t mind. If one day she lost her temper and allowed her magic to purge everyone in the Hewn City he would likely ask if she had to be _quite_ so dramatic about it...Before he gave her a sharp, razor-edged smile and set about smoothing things over. But...

“I could,” she agrees, carefully, trying to resist responding to Nesta’s subtle but tangible advances, “It’s much more fun to have the bastards kneel before me and doing my bidding.”

Nesta lets out a delighted little purr at this, nuzzling against Mor’s neck. “How about you leave this desk and _I’ll_ do your-“

“ _Nesta_ ,” Mor says, unable to keep the growl from her throat. She wants her, Cauldron she wants nothing more than to kiss her wife, feel her tongue in her mouth, wrap her arms around her and pull her close, let her brush away the harsh stains left by the Court of Nightmares and bring her back into dreams again.

Nesta huffs irritably against her neck then withdraws. Mor has to work hard to suppress her sudden whine of longing and something like pain as she feels Nesta’s slender, warm body leave her. She wants to beg for her back, wants to beg for her arms around her again but she doesn’t have the chance. Nesta pads to her side and nudges at her until she pushes her chair back enough to let her stand between her legs.

Lowering herself down slowly, hitching the hastily tied nightgown out of the way, she straddles Mor, settling into her lap, arms draped easily around her neck. Now that Mor sees her she smiles and can’t help herself from tucking a stray strand of Nesta’s burnt gold hair behind her ear. She’s dishevelled, which isn’t something everyone can claim they’ve seen from Nesta Archeron. Her hair is full of static and unbound and the robe she has on is uneven and roughly tied. She must have woken to the sound of Mor’s frustrated assault on her ink pot and hurried to find her, knowing something was wrong.  

“I missed you,” Nesta says quietly, her eyes deep and soft and warm.

Mor immediately feels her rigid body melt. She might have laughed had that been said by anyone else in any other way than the words had just left Nesta’s lips; so full of tender compassion and heart-stoppingly sincere concern. She might have insisted they were being ridiculous, she had only been gone for a few hours, not even a full night apart but...But she knows that Nesta understands. Understands in a way that no-one else truly has, what being in that court means for her. She understands that, for Nesta, too, the day had felt more like an eternity, as it had to her, counting every second, measuring every heartbeat, begging for just the next minute to pass.

So she only leans forwards and presses a gentle kiss to Nesta’s lips, stroking back her hair, thumbs caressing her cheeks, then whispers, “I know, Nes.”

In response, Nesta starts to slowly rock her hips against Mor’s, moving in closer to her. Dipping forwards she starts to trail kisses across her skin, like a line of constellations, each perfectly placed. She begins at her collarbone and moves up slowly, her hand settling at the nape of her neck, her fingers sliding deep into her golden hair.

Mor lets out a faint groan and allows herself to indulge for a moment in the heat of Nesta’s mouth, the feel of her tongue pressing against her skin. It feels so good and it’s near overwhelming her today. The coldness of those people, that hall, the stares on her, stripping her out of her clothes, and then out of her skin, down to her bones until she was nothing, less than nothing, before them all again. Nesta’s warmth, her quiet fierce love that she can feel in every kiss, every touch, is the best and only balm she could ever want to the horrors of that court.  

“Nes-“ Mor groans, eyes closing, hand reaching blindly behind her, fisting itself messily in her hair, needing something to hold on to, to ground her.

Her other hand tightly grips the edge of her desk for support but it slips when Nesta finally reaches her ear, nibbling gently on it, before she growls thickly, “I want you.”

Mor has to bite her lip to contain her whimper at this words. Reaching up again she very firmly grips her desk once more, fingers biting into the wood so hard they turn white. Her other hand braces around Nesta’s waist, the tightness in the gesture, the way she pulls Nesta against her, at odds with her next words, “I have to finish this report for Rhys, Nes.”

Nesta glowers darkly at this. “Rhys took you away from me all day.” She whispers, running her hands softly through Mor’s hair. “He can wait.”

Mor groans faintly again at that. “Nes-“ she begins once more, hopelessly. But Nesta suddenly sits straighter, back arching slightly, her hands slipping away from Mor’s body. All of the breath is knocked out of her lungs, stealing any words of protest that get immediately trapped in her throat. Slowly, her hands go to the tie of her robe and Mor feels heat flood between her legs just at the realisation of what she’s about to do. With near painfully deliberate motions, aware every second of what she’s doing, she starts to undo the tie of her robe.

* * *

 

Letting out a long, slow breath, Mor watches Nesta open the tie, letting the two halves go loose. Mor has to grip the edges of her chair to stop herself reaching up and ripping it open and surging forwards to kiss her wife. Mor smirks, sparing a bare glance for where Mor is anchoring her hands to keep from putting them on her.

Starting to rock her hips against Mor’s once more, Nesta gently eases the robe open and Mor is nearly panting with want by this point. This woman will be the death of her one of these days. And it will be the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted. She eases it down off one shoulder and then the other and Mor’s mouth goes dry as the dull throbbing between her legs intensifies to an ache as Nesta allows the heavy garment to pool on the floor at their feet.

“That’s not fair,” she groans, examining the lacy, blood red and ink black underwear Nesta has on. Her favourite. As she knows. Damn her. Damn her, damn her, damn her, _damn_ her, Cauldron-

“What’s not fair,” Nesta murmurs, leaning in for a kiss. This is hotter than the ones from before and when Mor feels Nesta’s tongue press against her lips she can’t help but yield to it. Her hips start arching up of their own accord, urging Nesta to resume her rhythm. Nesta smiles into the kiss as she dips back down and her hips slowly, agonisingly slowly, start moving against her once more. “Is leaving me alone all day to tend to myself.”

As she speaks her hand dips down, slipping inside the thin scrap of lace separating her from Mor. Mor snarls, unable to help herself, as her fingers tighten around Nesta’s wrist, drawing her sharply away, stopping her. Mor’s chest is heaving as she stares up at Nesta, lips slightly parted, struggling to control herself. Nesta doesn’t resist the restraining hand around her arm she just goes still against Mor, looking down at her, pupils blown wide with lust, transforming her eyes into rich, deep mountain pools.

Still breathing hard Mor closes her eyes, releasing Nesta’s arm as she seems to collapse in on herself. Sinking forwards she places her head on Nesta’s chest, her hands fumble until they find anchors at Nesta’s waist and she holds on tightly, just wanting to hold her, just for a moment. Nesta’s hands wrap tenderly around her, one cradling the back of her head, and she places a soft kiss into her hair.

“Please,” Mor rasps, her voice hoarse and raw. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. She doesn’t know what she wants. She doesn’t know what she needs. She just...She just....Her hands reach up and wrap around Nesta, fingertips brushing the bottom of her burnt gold hair, pulling her in close as she feels herself starting to shake slightly.

“It can wait,” Nesta whispers softly. She slides her fingers gently underneath Mor’s chin ,tilting her head slowly up to make her look at her. Her blue eyes are oddly bright in the faint light of the candles illuminating the room and her voice is thick, clogged with fierce emotion when she next speaks. “It can all wait. Everything can wait. It can all just stop. For a little while. For _us_.” She whispers those last words against the top of Mor’s head and follows them with a fierce kiss.  

Mor leans up and blindly kisses Nesta, catching the corner of her mouth but neither of them care. “Nesta, I-“ Mor whispers, hand working through her hair, taking a thick fistful in her hand and holding it there.

“I hate you in that place.” Nesta whispers softly onto the top of Mor’s head.

Mor stiffens at these words. She tries not to. She tries to smother her reaction to the reminder. She tries not to let it show but her spine locks at the very thought of it. And she knows that, even if it hadn’t, Nesta would still have known. She keeps her arms around her, keeps her in a tight embrace as she speaks. But Mor doesn’t need to see her face to know the broken, crumpled expression that will have filled it, if only for a moment.

Besides, she can hear in her voice, with those words, that for the first time tonight, she is something less than strong.

“I know,” Mor whispers, giving her a soft squeeze. As Nesta’s iron will quivers just a little, Mor feels a trickle of strength flow into her. As though they work always on a balance, always with the same amount between them, and as Nesta loses a little of hers, she gifts it to Mor so she can keep them going. Mor strokes a hand gently through Nesta’s brassy curls, “I hate it too,” she admits. Not words she lets slip from her very often. But with Nesta...with Nesta she can.

“But he still sends you,” she says, the words coming out of her in a growl, voice unyielding as a steel blade hot from the forge once more. Composed, she pulls back to let Mor see the white fire blazing in her blue-gray eyes.  

“I go,” Mor murmurs reasonably, tucking Nesta’s hair tenderly behind her pointed ear. This is an old argument, Nesta’s fury that Rhys made Mor the liaison between their courts, makes her endure going there, seeing them, reliving it, no matter her position or her power or her willingness.

“ _He sends you_ ,” she snarls, ice crystals forming on the outside of her words as she spits them out past her locked jaw.

Mor kisses Nesta’s nose making her blink for a moment, startled, then scowl irritably at her for trying to defuse the seriousness of the situation. Mor can’t help but smile at that look. Human. So human, still, in some ways, decades after the Second War, after her Making. There’s still such a blazing, hot-tempered fierceness in her, a desire to shape this world to her whims. Such unending, unyielding strength and stamina, the will to fight for what and who she loves to the end, no matter if that end comes in decades or eternities.

“...I go,” Mor says, quiet but insistent, cupping Nesta’s cheek, caressing absently with her thumb as she tenderly kisses her.

Nesta watches her for a long moment, head cocked slightly to one side and Mor rests her hands on her bare sides, trying to ignore the burn of heat that radiates from her skin. At last, Nesta says flatly, “Because of him.”

A laugh huffs unexpectedly from Mor against the pale skin of Nesta’s neck and she can’t stop the broad grin that spreads across her face in response. She leans forwards and kisses her, tenderly, smile still on her face. “You never give up, do you?” she murmurs against Nesta’s neck, nuzzling gently at the soft skin there.

She pulls back in order to admire the slow smile that spreads across Nesta’s face, like the steady thawing of a frozen lake, gradual and strangely beautiful, revealing the stunning depths beneath.

“Would you love me if I was any other way?” Nesta asks, her tone is playful, light and teasing...But under that Mor can hear the faintest shred of insecurity and doubt there, even now, all these decades later, with wedding vows between them. It shatters her heart.

“Cauldron no,” she growls firmly.

Her hands grow roots in Nesta’s hair, digging deep and pushing her down to meet her lips in a rough clash of tongue and teeth. Nesta moans softly into the kiss, rougher and harder and deeper than any that have gone before. Mor’s tongue sweeps into Nesta’s mouth and, by the Mother, she could live on the taste of her, on the scent that fills her lungs right now as she breathes her in and feels home at last, for the first time since emerging from the Hewn City. Burning embers and cool mint blend in a delicious cocktail of hot and cold that has her arching out of her seat wanting- _needing_ \- more.

Mor makes herself break off the kiss sooner than she would have liked. If she could have she would have kissed Nesta until they had both drowned in the other’s taste and scent and essence. Mor wants to rip herself free of her skin, and Nesta too, strip them down until they’re reduced to their very bones, hearts and souls exposed, raw and ready, begging to be fused together. But...

Bowing her head against Nesta’s heaving chest once more, Mor whispers faintly, “I have to get this done, Nes.” She just wants it over with, wants to hand the report off to Rhys and be done with it, wash her hands free of the stain so they’re clean enough to touch the woman she loves again.

Nesta, as though sensing these twisted thoughts, reaches down and picks up Mor’s hands, threading their fingers together and squeezing gently with a pulse like a heartbeat. Leaning down she nuzzles affectionately at Mor’s neck, lips softly kissing and sucking at every part she knows is sensitive. Mor barely controls her whimper, body shaking in response to her. So easy, it’s always been so easy for her to turn her on like this, make her moan, make her want her more than life itself, make her _need_ her more than air.

“Let me make you feel good,” Nesta whispers against her neck as she tilts her head back, unconsciously giving her access, her body crying out for this. Her eyes flutter shut as Nesta deftly swaps sides, trailing a tender necklace of kisses over the soft, exposed skin of her throat.

“Let me make you forget, forget what they did to you, forget how they made you feel, forget how they haunt you. Let me take it all away.” Mor doesn’t make any attempt to suppress the faint, longing whimper that escapes from her in response to that.

Nesta takes Mor’s hands, still held in hers, and places them on her hips as she starts to rock in Mor’s lap. Mor lifts her head, looking up into Nesta’s stunning eyes, lost in the way they glitter and dance, a kaleidoscope of blue, ever shifting, ever changing like the restless ocean but always beautiful. Nesta takes Mor’s face softly between both of her delicate, shapely hands and then leans down to kiss her.

The moment her tongue brushes against her lips, Mor parts them for her. She makes no effort this time at stopping the moan at the feeling of Nesta sweeping in to claim her, consume her, devour her. She wants that. She wants it all. She wants Nesta to fill her, every aching inch of her. She’s vulnerable and suffering and has lost a part of the battle today, letting some of the darkness constantly clawing at her soul in. She wants Nesta to banish it all, to roar and rage at her demons like a blazing bonfire until they cower and seek shelter from her, from _them_ ,  again as they should.

Nesta draws away, breathing hard, eyes bright and shining. She tucks Mor’s thick, gold hair behind her ears and cradles her face again, stroking softly, one finger curling down over her smooth skin. “Let me take care of you, Mor,” she whispers, half a plea, half a promise. Nesta leans forwards, gently touching her forehead to Mor’s, her arms around her, holding her close.

“Please,” the small, broken whimper bursts from her before she can stop herself.

Her lips quiver, parted slightly, aching to reach for Nesta’s, to kiss her, to consume them both in a fire that is rich and fierce and _holy_. Nesta reaches forwards, fingers tangling through Mor’s thick hair and kisses her, hot but gentle, intimate and careful. Mor closes her eyes, sinking into the kiss, an arm wrapping around Nesta’s slim form, pulling her against her, just needing to feel that press, that warmth, that safety.

Drawing away, Nesta tenderly kisses Mor’s head before she slides slowly off of her lap. Mor nearly moans in agony at the loss, as though a half of her soul has been severed, torn away from the other, and the chasm of space between them feels like she’s being sawn in half with every second it lasts. But then Nesta reaches for her, eyes soft and so full of love, and the tender brush of her fingers against Mor’s skin heals the ragged wound her absence left in a collection of rapid heartbeats.

Nesta gently laces their fingers together then gently tugs Mor out of her chair. Mor stands, obliging, and allows Nesta to lead her by the hand away from the office, the desk, the report, and the black memories that threaten to drown her like the depthless waters of the Cauldron that sometimes stalk her own dreams, claiming the woman she loves and refusing to let her go.

She pads meekly after Nesta, letting her guide her where she will, as she leads her slowly into their bedroom. Their room is the heart of their home and just the sight of it, the feeling of being in it again relaxes Mor in a way the cramped office space could never do. The walls are lined with smooth, dark wood panels, off-set by the pale pastel red of the walls. The rest is decorated with dark reds and velvety plums. The scent of rich summer berries and the faint kick of spice perfumes the air and inhaling that scent makes Mor smile.  

Her eyes, as they so often do, are drawn to the large four poster bed in the centre of the room. Dominating the space it was designed for Ilyrian wings and could comfortably cradle five high fae in its vast depths. But it’s theirs. Only theirs. She wants to dive into it with her wife and never leave it or the safety of her arms again as long as she lives.

****

Nesta’s arm has gone slack, the tension that had been in it as she led Mor here gone now that they’ve arrived. Turning, she glances up at her wife then follows her gaze to the bed. A soft smile touches her lips and she can’t help herself moving forwards and kissing Mor, drawing her attention back where it belongs.

It doesn’t take long for Mor to refocus on her, hands sliding around her hips again and pulling her closer. She’s almost convincing, almost fools Nesta into thinking she’s all right, that everything is back to normal. But it’s not. Nesta knows her, knows her better than anyone, despite not having been in her life as long as the others. There’s an intimacy between them and insights she’s gained as a result that a millennia of friendship could never teach the males who so dote upon her wife.

Mor is haunted, still. From the visit today and from the brutalities that were inflicted upon her centuries ago by the vile males of that festering shit-hole they call a court. There are dark circles under her eyes but they are as nothing to the darkness that fills those beautiful brown eyes themselves. Usually warm and bright as fresh poured caramel, catching and reflecting every light, a laugh always sparkling in them; now they’re dull and dark and she barely recognises the female that looks at her out of them.

That’s not the worst of it, though. There’s a part of her missing. She isn’t quite as responsive to Nesta’s attentions, isn’t as present with her, and the light that always flickers within her heart has gone out. This is why she hates it when she has to visit that _place_ , because even when she comes out again she still leaves a part of herself there and it takes her days to find it again. That’s why Nesta argues so fiercely with her about going and why she’s so angry with Rhys, even if this is the way it’s worked for centuries.

The woman who descends down into the Court of Nightmares always returns a shell, her laughter gilded armour crumbling, her dreams drained from her until she’s hollow and lost. Nesta reaches between them again, taking her hand and helping her find her way back.

Leaning in, Nesta kisses Mor again and as she does her hands reach behind her, gently unfastening the hooks that run along the length of Mor’s spine, keeping Mor’s dress on her. She hadn’t bothered to change out of it when she returned, had only tossed aside the diadem her hair had been twisted around, letting the golden tresses spill unbound around her shoulders before she collapsed into her desk chair and began to work on her report for Rhys.

It’s a stunning piece, as most things are stunning when they’re worn by her wife. Deep black silk that hugs every curve, clinging to her like a second skin, slashed with panels of rich, deep blue velvet that makes Nesta want to continue the work and tear the garment from her. She restrains herself, however. She is gentle now before anything else. There are nights when she has torn Mor’s clothes from her, so desperate to feel her hot skin flowing beneath her hands, wanting to rip through that too to bring them closer. Tonight though, tonight she needs a reminder of tenderness and love, a soothing balm to the violence of that court.

“Nesta,” Mor murmurs faintly, her eyes slowly fluttering closed as Nesta’s lips fall to her neck and her hands descend slowly along her spine, slowly popping the hooks, the figure hugging dress becoming slacker and slacker with every one as she makes her way down to Mor’s waist.

“Shh,” Nesta breathes quietly, hearing the tremor in Mor’s voice and wanting nothing more than to soothe it. Mor’s dress splits at the back and starts to slide down her body. Nesta encourages it, letting it ripple from her like molten black metal, her armour falling away and leaving her bare before her. It pools on the floor at their feet and Mor shivers as the cool night air lightly kisses her soft, creamy skin.

Nesta braces her hands at Mor’s hips, pulling her gently against her as she kisses her. “You’re home,” she breathes, tenderly cradling Mor’s face between her hands before she kisses her again. “You’re home now.”

Mor nods and her hand digs deeply into her hair as she leans down and kisses her hard. Her lips tremble slightly and Nesta feels them tentatively part, an invitation, no, a _plea_ , for her tongue. Nesta responds, slowly, carefully, kissing her as though she’s made of spun glass. It’s a vulnerability she would allow to no other lover, Nesta is sure.

Anyone else would be ordered to kiss her hard, grip her hips tightly enough to leave bruises, to prove that she was all right, to prove that she could handle it, that she was strong. But she...She is allowed to softly brush her tongue against Mor’s, to cradle her as she is; precious and sometimes fragile. She is allowed to see the cracks that run through Mor’s soul, through her heart too, filled in with sunshine burning like gold but still there, still broken. She is allowed to see these faint scars because she understands. They splinter through her too.

Reaching up, Nesta gently unclips the back of Mor’s bra then slides the deep blue straps down her arms until it falls free, joining her dress on the floor. Nesta groans in soft approval as she slides her lips from Mor’s neck to take one of her breasts in her mouth, allowing herself just a moment to be selfish, to indulge in her wife’s beautiful body. She hears Mor’s answering gasp when she runs her tongue over her nipple, and smiles as she does it again.

Then her hands are both firmly on Mor’s hips again and she’s gently nudging her back towards their bed. Just before she allows her to collapse back upon it, Nesta sinks down to her knees before Mor, nuzzling softly at her thighs, intending to tug down her underwear and have her trembling, clutching the bed for support in moments. Mor however coaxes her back onto her feet and pulls her against her to kiss her deeply. “Not tonight,” she whispers onto her lips, “I don’t want you on your knees for me. Not tonight.”

Nesta surges for her, kissing her hard, her lips parting, her tongue pressing against Mor’s lips, feeling them part for her with a faint moan. Breaking the kiss, panting, Nesta strokes Mor’s thick golden hair, unable to resist dipping in to press another swift, tender kiss to her lips. Then she murmurs quietly, “I love you.”

Mor’s eyes brighten at those words, at the way she says them and Nesta can’t stop herself from kissing her again. Coming from her the words are a rarity. Mor knows that she loves her and Nesta isn’t the type of person who feels compelled to tell her something she knows every minute of the day. Mor is far more verbally affectionate than she is, and mumbles the words at her at least once every few days. But Nesta is more reserved, she loves Mor’s freedom with the words, the way she wears her heart on her sleeve as a badge of defiance, and how much she delights in telling her that but for her...It’s something like a prayer sacred, holy, whispered only when her lover most needs it.

Mor nods and kisses her back, “I love you too,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around Nesta and refusing to release her even as Nesta pushes her gently back down onto the bed behind them. Nesta follows her down then, not breaking the kiss as Mor’s back hits the soft blankets and pillows that cradle her worn, weary body.

Drawing back, Nesta softly kisses Mor’s lips once more before she starts to trail kisses down her body. She begins at her neck, lingering and sucking gently on all the different spots that she knows make her moan until she rewards her with just that. Only then does she move on, sliding down past her collar, following the curves of her body until her lips find a breast. Taking it her mouth she cups the other with her hand and works them both until Mor is arching into her touch and gasping for her.

Smiling around her, Nesta bites gently at her nipple which causes Mor to curse, fisting her hands in Nesta’s hair. “Nes,” Mor gasps out and Nesta purrs her approval at the petname, then she continues lower.

Her lips skim over the golden planes of Mor’s stomach and then she’s at her navel and pausing as her mouth finds a barrier in the thin scrap of lace that bars her access. Softly, Nesta runs her fingers over Mor and realises that she’s already starting to soak through the thin fabric keeping them apart. Nesta growls softly in the back of her throat, heat flaring between her own legs at the feel of her lover’s wetness. Leaning in close Nesta gently nuzzles against her and Mor groans, fisting the sheets beneath her with her hands as she fights not to let her hips buck from the bed just yet.

“Nes,” she whines again, nodding her head and swallowing, visibly trying to control and brace herself for what’s to come.

Nesta shuffles a little closer to her. Reaching up she hooks her fingers inside Mor’s underwear, shoving the fabric aside to let her brush her fingers over her. She curses, bowing her head, resting her brow against Mor’s sweat damp stomach, breath huffing onto her skin as she whispers, “You’re so wet for me, princess.”

Mor moans at that, at the way Nesta says that word, scrapes it along her nerves and sends it straight to her core. And the sound of Mor’s moan, the way she shudders, the way her breathing becomes heavy and ragged make Nesta snap. With a low snarl she slowly eases Mor’s underwear down her legs and has to bite her lip to contain her own soft moan of pleasure as the scent of her arousal hits her. So wet, so wet for her, just for her. Her lover, her partner, her wife, _hers_.

Tossing Mor’s panties to the floor Nesta presses her lips softly to Mor’s stomach and presses her next words, her next request, deep into her golden skin, “Spread your legs for me?” She whispers, a question, a plea, not a demand or an order.  

Mor obliges with a soft whimper and Nesta feels her mouth go dry at the sight of her spread out before her, all hers. Nudging forwards, Nesta looks up at her wife between her legs and sees with a shiver of satisfaction that her pupils have blown wide, consuming the rich caramel gold of her eyes.

Slowly, lovingly, Nesta kisses her way up the inside of Mor’s thighs, feeling her shiver and tremble, letting her heavy breaths drop into panting. Pausing at the apex of her, Nesta looks up at her once more, “Yes?” she checks quietly, needing to hear her say that back to her, needing to hear her ask for it.

“Yes,” Mor gasps back, nodding her head urgently.

Nesta knows from the way that her hand fists itself in her brassy hair that she’s not asking for this, she’s begging for it. She obliges her and buries her mouth between her thighs. The moment her lips make contact with the hot, slick flesh Mor moans and her body arches from the bed as though lightning has been shot through her spine, striking where Nesta kisses at her core.

Some nights Nesta enjoys teasing, enjoys the way Mor pants and whimpers and pleads for it, for her. She loves watching her wife’s hands fist desperately in the sheets as she tries to control herself, loves the way she shivers when she’s about to come for her, all the tells that make it so easy to draw away just at the last moment to make her choke down her frustrated curses while Nesta huffs a soft, wicked chuckle against her aching centre.  

Tonight though, tonight she has no intention of teasing her. She knows Mor and she knows that tonight what she wants, what she _needs_ from her, this release, the pleasure that she can inspirein her to obliterate the ghosts that are haunting her soul. Nesta fully intends to give her that, fully intends to push her, make her come for her over and over until her demons shrink back and the light in her soul begins to glow and shine through her eyes again. She intends to devour her, to consume her so thoroughly that it will seem as though there’s nothing left in this world but them.

Nesta starts with slow, broad licks until Mor is gasping and tugging lightly at her hair, then she focuses a little more intently on where she wants her, tongue circling that sensitive bundle of nerves that has Mor shuddering. “Nes,” Mor groans out, her head thrown back against the pillow, her lips spilling open as her pleasure reach a fever pitch and she is left without the breath to cry out, leaving her silent, breathless and desperate.

Smiling wickedly against her, Nesta grips her hips and pulls her against her mouth, increasing her pace and being rewarded by Mor’s loud cry of pleasure. Her nails scrape at her scalp as she digs her fingers into her hair and tugs her even closer still. “Nesta,” she whimpers, panting hard, nodding her head to make her keep going, “Nesta, Nesta, _please_.”

Groaning and closing her eyes Nesta shifts closer to Mor, increasing her pace again until Mor’s faint whispered repetitions of her name are choked off into a sharp whine of pleasure. Nesta could live on this, on the thick, heady taste of her wife on her tongue, the sound of her moans perfuming the air around them, filling it with the rich essence of her pleasure.

She had discovered early on in their relationship that she lived for the sound of Mor’s moans. The first time she had heard that sound, heard it coming from those beautiful full lips, because of _her_ , she knew she could listen to that for an eternity and it would never be enough. She had wanted to hear it again and again and again and had devoted the first night they had spent together to learning just how to make her feel so good she couldn’t control herself or the noises she made for her.

Now she knows it all. Every lick, every touch, every kiss that will make her shudder and gasp out her name as though with her last breath. Where she’s most sensitive, where she loves being touched and how; Nesta has an instinctive catalogue of Mor’s body tattooed upon the bare surface of her soul. Her body knows just how to worship her partner’s to make her cry out her name and she uses every one of those instincts to her advantage now.

There’s no teasing, no drawing out Mor’s pleasure, making her wait for it, making her beg for it. Nesta just allows her entire being to become consumed by Mor’s taste and scent and heat. The feel of her under her tongue, the way she shudders, how she can hear the sheets bunching as Mor grips them in her hands, trying so desperately to gain some purchase. The faint, breathy moans that start to spill from her uncontrollably and the way her thighs tremble as she starts getting closer to her peak.

“More,” she groans, one hand leaving the sheets to bury itself in Nesta’s hair again. The other takes one of the hands that Nesta still has tightly anchored to her waist and pushes it off, nudging it insistently between her thighs instead. “Nes, I need more, I, _please_.”

That last word, that faint, cracked plea is all Nesta needs to hear before she’s easing a finger inside her and sinking in to the moan to trembles from her in response.  Mouth still occupied, Nesta reaches up with her free hand until she finds Mor’s desperately grasping fingers and laces them together, squeezing, trying to communicate her love and her investment in her partner’s pleasure.

Mor grips her hand like it’s the last and only thing tethering her to this world as her hips buck against her mouth and fingers. Nesta slides a second finger into her, pumping them in and out of her with the same fast, pulsing rhythm as her tongue. She feels Mor’s walls beginning to contract around her and squeezes her hand, encouraging her to let go.

Mor crushes her hand in pure desperation and growls in a whisper edged with razor-sharp steel, “ _More_.”

A shiver trembles down Nesta’s spine at that word, the way she says it, what she wants. Plunging her fingers in deeper she draws away from her clit and buries her mouth in her thigh instead, biting down hard on the soft skin there. Mor cries out, overwhelmed with the rush of feeling, the sudden heady cocktail that comes alive within her nerves as pleasure and pain blend together inside her. It tears through her nerves as though they’re fuses that she’s lit, burning up as they blaze to her core and she shatters around her fingers with a loud, desperate cry of pleasure that sounds like her name.

Hands fumbling blindly with Nesta’s hair Mor coaxes her back up towards her. Nesta knows she needs to hold her, needs to feel their warm skin pressed flush together as she pants and attempts to come down from this high. She runs her hands softly up and down Mor’s sides, feeling her shaking as the aftershocks of her climax pulse through her. Her chest is heaving and her smooth skin is slick with sweat. Her eyes are closed, her hair forming a golden halo on the pillow around her face.

Nesta doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything more beautiful in her life. And she doesn’t think she ever will.

Dipping down, she presses a deep kiss to Mor’s lips and feels her moan into it as she tastes herself on her tongue. Her hand slides through Nesta’s hair as she kisses her still more deeply, messy and satisfied. The scent of _them_ fills the air now and Nesta loves the faint tang of sex filling her nostrils.

She had cursed her heightened senses when she had first been made. Everything had made her feel dizzy and lightheaded, each new stimulus overwhelming and she had shut herself away to try and avoid it all. But now, the idea of breathing in and not inhaling every note of Mor’s delicate citrus and cinnamon scent, along with that soft undercurrent of baked cherries she would never have noticed as a human, fills her with loathing.

Stroking Mor’s hair back from her face she presses another gentle kiss to her lips, bringing her slowly back. Smiling down at her, fingers twining through Mor’s thick golden curls Nesta enjoys the moment they become suspended in, all heavy breaths and soft, warm lips. Then Mor’s eyes snap open again and her pupils blow wide and Nesta feels her mouth go dry a moment before Mor surges up, claiming her mouth in a rough kiss that steals every last gasp of air from her lungs.

When she breaks the kiss Mor keeps her face cupped in her hands, her brassy hair caught between her fingers and Nesta’s cheek. Nesta shudders, her lips parting slightly as heat pounds between her legs at the look in Mor’s eyes as she stares hungrily down at her. The wicked vein of lust that thrums through her rich, dark eyes is nothing less than predatory, dripping with hunger and desire as she runs her tongue slowly along her bottom lip, her gaze dragging slowly up and down Nesta’s body.

****

 

Mor watches with satisfaction as Nesta shivers in anticipation for her. Leaning in she kisses her deeply again, tongue pressing insistently against Nesta’s lips until they part for her. The taste of her filling Nesta’s mouth causes her to whimper and Mor growls her approval at her reaction. Reaching around them, never breaking the kiss, she begins undoing Nesta’s bra.

With a soft gasp, Nesta breaks their kiss and takes hold of Mor’s wrists, halting her. Mor stops immediately, meeting her lover’s eyes with a sudden flash of concern. Nesta gently releases her wrists and cups her face instead with a quiet tenderness that surprises her after the heat of their kiss.

Panting faintly, Nesta presses her forehead softly against hers, eyes closing. Mor can’t help but melt into it, even though heat still pounds in her blood and the desire to kiss her wife with her lips so close nearly causes her to surge forwards once more.

“You don’t have to,” Nesta breathes softly, her breath hot on Mor’s lips. Dipping forwards her wife nuzzles gently, affectionately, at her neck, “I wanted to make you feel good,” she murmurs, “I wanted to make you forget and feel better. You don’t have to feel obliged to-“

Mor cuts her off by gently tugging on her brown-gold hair and guiding her up for another kiss. This is softer than the ones that went before it however. She deepens it almost as soon as their mouths meet but her desire has shifted slightly with Nesta’s words from a fierce, wild thing of fiery passion to something gentler, something warmer and far richer and more intimate. This is a kiss of love and gratitude for Nesta’s consideration. She might not outwardly show it very often but the love that burns within her is raw and tangible and present in every breath, it just takes a little effort to see it.

“I love you,” Mor whispers against her lips, soft and tender and Nesta smiles softly against her mouth as she kisses her again.

Her fingers sink deeply into Nesta’s hair, gripping at it the same way she had gripped the sheets while she had been down between her thighs. “ _I love you,”_ she repeats, her voice lowering to a rich, layered growl which she watches shudder through Nesta.

The scent of Nesta’s arousal hits her in the next breath and she groans, inhaling deeply, feeling Nesta shiver, rubbing her thighs together as she realises what Mor is doing. Smirking against her mouth she runs her fingers softly along the hem of Nesta’s underwear then leans in, pushing back her hair so she can purr into her ear, voice low and dripping with hunger. “I’ve wanted to peel you out of these,” she gives a sharp, insistent tug on her little lace panties, “Since I first saw you wearing them.” As had been Nesta’s intention, she has no doubt.

Mor nibbles gently on Nesta’s earlobe then brushes her lips over her neck, sucking on a spot she knows from experience is sensitive until she obliges her with a whimper. Her nails dig deep into her shoulders as she grips onto her for support and Mor softly growls her approval at her reaction. Dragging her lips up along Nesta’s neck once more until she reaches her ear and whispers, a soft note of playful begging colouring her next words, “You won’t deny me that pleasure, will you?”

Nesta groans faintly but then leans in, softly cupping Mor’s heavy breasts in her hands and pressing a tender ring of kisses around her throat before she purrs, in a voice like silk dragged through honey, “You know I can never deny you anything you want, princess.”

Mor growls low in the back of her throat and surges forwards, hands scrabbling desperately behind Nesta’s back for the clasp of her bra. Her nails leave faint red marks where they scrape against her skin in her urgency. Nesta leaves similar echoes of their passion in long tracks down Mor’s arms when she drags her nails down them as Mor kisses at her neck while easing the straps of her bra down.

The thin garment falls away, Nesta’s breasts spilling free and Mor groans softly at the sight of them. They fit so perfectly in her hands, as though they were made for her, as though her whole body was made for her to worship and love. And she does, Cauldron she does. Gently, she runs the balls of her thumbs over her nipples until they harden into peaks for her and Nesta is shivering and writhing slowly, arching into her touch.

“You like that, don’t you, beautiful?” she murmurs onto Nesta’s neck and feels her nod urgently, nails scraping her scalp as she digs her fingers deeply into her hair, urging her closer, begging her without words.

Mor obliges her and starts sucking gently on her neck until she whimpers. The sound snaps something in Mor and she pitches forwards against her. Nesta, eyes closed, body slowly melting at her steady, careful attentions, fast becoming limp with pleasure, offers no resistance to her. Her eyes snap open when her back hits the pillows and Mor watches her pupils burst like shooting stars, obliterating the gray-blue of her eyes with hunger and desire.

Groaning Mor leans down and captures Nesta’s lips in hers once more, “You’re perfect,” she growls , the words vibrating through her chest, voice low and dripping with need.

Leaning down she sucks gently on Nesta’s breast, her tongue working over the peaked nipple. At the same time her hand trails over Nesta’s curves, dipping into her belly button on the way down. She pauses at the hem of her underwear, running her finger along it, following the line of red lace along the top back and forth back and forth back and forth, teasing.

“Do you want me to touch you, love?” She purrs in Nesta’s ear, breath hot and heavy. Nesta whimpers before she nods her head. Mor kisses her lips, “You do?” she urges, unable to resist the wicked grin that spreads across her lips in response.

“ _Yes_ ,” Nesta bites out, hands digging into Mor’s hair and trying to push her down to where she wants her. “Touch me,” she pants out, gripping the scrap of lace herself, urging it out of her way. Chuckling with dark pleasure Mor catches her wrist and kisses her lips, halting her. Nesta whines, hips lifting from the mattress against her wife, trying to urge her on. “Please,” she whispers hoarsely, “ _Please.”_

With a low snarl Mor rips the last barrier separating them from Nesta’s hips. She can’t hear her wife beg for her that way, knowing that she never begs for anything, and would never dream of begging anyone other than her. And she can’t leave her so desperate and wanting when she took such good care of her.

“Spread your legs for me,” she growls.

This isn’t the soft, light request Nesta had made of her earlier, this is an order. Her brown eyes burn into Nesta’s blue-gray with a hunger that would have devoured and destroyed any but her. Nesta holds her gaze the entire time she slowly parts her legs for Mor, a silent dare to do her worst, to drive her wild, to push her harder than any would dare to do. Mor drinks in the challenge in her eyes and the look of her wife completely naked before her, baring herself even further, inviting her in.

Jaw tightening as she attempts to control herself, Mor lets her breathing deepen, becoming rough and ragged as she lowers herself down slowly, so slowly, letting Nesta watch each moment. The anticipation swells in the room, palpable as a bow being drawn back in the utter silence and stillness of a deep wood. A crescendo of heat and need builds to a screaming pitch as Nesta feels every heartbeat contract between them as she waits for Mor’s mouth to land where she wants it, where she needs it.

Licking her lips with torturous slowness, Mor cocks her head a truly wicked smile tugging at her mouth as she holds Nesta’s hips in her hands and _tugs_. A gasp bursts from Nesta’s lips as she’s jerked forwards down their bed. Then Mor puts her mouth on her and starts to suck without giving her a moment to brace or compose herself.

Nesta screams and Mor grins against her and continues, hands still firmly anchored at her hips to keep her against her mouth even as she bows off of the bed. Nesta’s hands desperately scrabble for something, _anything_ , to cling to. One fists itself in the sheets beneath them and the other roughly grips a fistful of Mor’s hair, tugging urgently to guide her movements.

Shifting herself slightly, moving closer to Nesta, allowing her to move faster and harder, Mor increases her pace until Nesta’s mouth opens and she allows her pleasure to spill freely from her throat. Curses mingle with long, drawn out moans and Mor feels them shoot through her spine like a burst of power that pulses through them both, setting them on fire.

Closing her eyes she focuses entirely on the feel of Nesta against her mouth, her lips moving, her tongue focusing on the sensitive bundle of nerves that Nesta’s needy hands guide her to. She indulges her wife, giving her exactly what she needs, exactly what she demands from her over and over again between desperate moans.

Lifting herself away for a moment to give them both a moment breathe Mor smirks as Nesta peppers the air with violent curses once more, her entire body shaking with the pleasure Mor has inspired in her. “You taste so good,” Mor breathes against her heat and Nesta whimpers again, eyes clamped shut as she fights the urge to drag Mor back to where she wants her.

“Mor,” she whimpers, tugging gently on her hair, both hands burying themselves deep within her golden curls. “Mor I need it, I need it, I need you, don’t stop, please don’t stop, please-“ She breaks off as Mor obligingly buries her head between her thighs again.

Mor knows just how Nesta likes it, knows just what to do to make her shatter for her, to make her moan her name for the whole of Velaris to hear and she holds nothing back tonight. She wants Nesta to feel everything, wants her completely out of control and limp with pleasure, not able to utter a single word that isn’t her name.

She can tell when Nesta starts getting closer. Her thighs start trembling and her hips buck uncontrollably against Mor’s mouth, something she only does when she’s close. Reaching up Mor finds her hand and takes it in hers and feels Nesta squeezing hard enough to shatter her fingers. Laughing darkly against her which only makes her moan harder, Mor uses her other hand to gently pinch one of Nesta’s nipples. At the same time she sucks her clit with just enough pressure that Nesta shatters for her with a broken cry, her lips trying and failing to form themselves around her name as pleasure blazes through her.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand Mor crawls slowly up to the top of the bed once more, her eyes delightedly feasting on Nesta’s body as she does so. She’s panting so hard, her chest heaving, her stomach pulling in as she tries to desperately suck down air. Her silken, creamy skin is slick with a faint sheen of sweat and her body still trembles with the aftershocks of pleasure that pulse through her. Her eyes are closed, her hands clenching and unclenching, with a rhythm like a heartbeat, in the sheets that are bunched up around her.  Mor doesn’t think she’s ever found anything as beautiful, doesn’t think she’s ever loved anything as much as she loves this woman before her.

Dipping down, one hand braced on the bed, the other gently scrapes the sweaty burnt gold strands of Nesta’s hair from her face. Then she leans down and kisses her. Though limp with the pleasure that has just burned through her, Nesta’s body arches off of the mattress, pressing her against Mor. Her arm wraps around Mor’s back, pulling her down to lie on top of her as they kiss. Her fingers trail absently through her thick golden hair as she prolongs the kiss.

“I love you,” Mor whispers quietly to her, breaking away for just a moment to be able to tell her those words. Then Nesta, with a soft groan of contentment, pulls her down to kiss her once more.

Hunger grips her once more and she realises that she’s not done with her, not even close to being done with this beautiful creature made of contradictions, of cold steel and roaring fire; of sheltered quiet and blazing passion, all hers. Her wife. Spread out before her, full of trust and vulnerability and love, so much love Mor fears sometimes they might both drown in it. They’ll wake one morning to find their lungs flooded with Nesta’s love for Mor as it spills over the edges of the world. She doesn’t want to end this eternity in any other way.

Holding herself over her, their bodies separated by nothing but a fraction of taught, charged air that burns like the core of the sun, Mor drags her gaze lazily up and down Nesta’s slender, writhing form. Skin slick with sweat she pants for breath, not having fully recovered from the last climax Mor gave her but...But those stunning blue eyes are glittering with desire and need and a faint, daring smile tugs slyly at her lips and Mor growls as she slides her fingers along the inside of Nesta’s thigh.

Nesta arches into the touch, trying to urge her higher but Mor just lets out a soft, throaty laugh and shakes her head. “Patience,” she chides softly in Nesta’s ear. Nesta whimpers again but settles back down on the bed with an obvious effort, stilling her body apart from the shaking she can’t control.

Mor smiles and lets her fingers lift a little higher, close, so close. Climbing higher still she lets out a soft hiss as she hits the wetness pooled at Nesta’s core. So wet, so wet for her and Mor can’t help groaning her approval of that fact, dipping down to kiss her lover’s neck, soft and slow.  

A part of her wants nothing more than to sink between her thighs again and have that intoxicating taste on her tongue once more but this time...This time she wants to watch her. She wants to look into those stunning eyes and see every flicker of pleasure, every pulse of desperation, every flash of need that burns in them for her. She wants to see her come undone for her, wants to savour that pleasure resounding through her.

Biting her lip, Mor gently eases her fingers up through Nesta’s slick folds and is rewarded with a faint whimper from her in response. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as her hands fist themselves in the sheets once more, anchoring herself. Mor smiles and lets the ball of her thumb gently circle her centre in slow, rhythmic motions that soon have her arching from the mattress into her hand again.

“Is that good?” she whispers in Nesta’s ear, unable to help herself.

Whining hoarsely Nesta nods, “Yes,” she whispers to her, nodding desperately, “Yes, _more_.”

Obediently, Mor increases her pace, adding a little more pressure to her movements as well and Nesta moans loudly for her. So vocal, always so vocal in bed when she’s with her.

She had been embarrassed about it at the beginning. The first time Mor had slipped her fingers between her slick thighs she had moaned so loudly the whole of Velaris would have known what they were doing. Then she had clamped a hand over her mouth to silence herself, even as her hips continued to lift against Mor’s hand with urgent need. Mor had quickly pulled the hand over her mouth away, kissing her deeply, whispering in her ear that she wanted to hear her, wanted to hear every sound she made for her, wanted to know if it felt good. She had moaned again in answer and Mor had found a broad smile tugging at her lips and the intense desire to have her do that again and again and again.

Some nights Mor teases her with it, stops what she’s doing if Nesta makes the slightest sound for her. It drives her wild she knows, being forced to bite her lip and keep quiet when all she wants to do is scream at the pleasure blazing through her body. She has no desire to be such a cruel, wicked lover tonight though. Tonight she wants to hear every sound, every moan, every hoarse, raw throated answer to the ecstasy that burns in her blood.

Still smoothly working her with her thumb, Mor slides a finger inside her as well, pumping it gently in and out, maintaining the same steady rhythm. Nesta cries out loudly and Mor can feel that she’s already close, a second climax building quickly on the heels of the first. She starts to gently push a second finger in to join the first but pauses as Nesta closes her eyes, turning her head slightly on the pillow, body trembling.

Mor stops completely and Nesta whines pathetically, hips lifting urgently against her fingers, “ _Morrigan_ -“ she growls impatiently, that name reserved for true desperation.

Reaching down Mor gently takes Nesta’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and turns her head. “ _Look at me_ ,” she growls. Nesta’s eyes snap open again, locking with Mor’s, obedient to her every wish if her reward is the pleasure she knows Mor can give her.

Mor lets a smile spread slowly across her face, like honey slowly being poured over her own wicked pleasure. Then she eases both fingers inside Nesta again until she arches her back like a shooting star bursting through the sky and gracefully falling to earth.

Nesta’s whole body is trembling and Mor knows that she’s close, can feel it as surely as she can feel the heat and ache that’s pounding between her own legs at watching her wife fall apart beneath her this way. “Good,” Mor purrs softly in Nesta’s ear, leaning down to whisper to her, coaxing her closer with her words. “ _Good_ ,” she repeats, “Good girl, Nes-“ she breaks off suddenly, rhythm faltering for a moment and her lips part slightly as she gazes down.

There’s a sharp, wicked glitter in Nesta’s eyes and her lips have pulled into a near feral smile as her fingers slide between Mor’s legs as well. Mor can’t stop the faint whimper that spills from her throat as she realises what she’s doing.

“Nes-“ she whispers, intending to tell her that this was supposed to be about her now but Nesta cuts her off.

Shaking her head, as though she knows what Mor is thinking she eases her fingers up to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and begins teasing. “I want to touch you,” she purrs softly to her and Mor feels herself starting to tremble, struggling to keep herself braced over Nesta as her arm quiver. “I want to make you feel good,” she murmurs reaching up to nuzzle gently between her breasts. “I want to make you come with me, princess.” Mor closes her eyes, feeling a shiver grip her entire body, making it tremble and shake at that.  

Her hips start instinctively rocking against the gentle press of Nesta’s fingers against her and her hair falls down over her face as she sinks in to the warm throb of pleasure that starts to swell at her core. Then Nesta’s fingers pause and she snarls her displeasure to make her realise that Nesta is bucking her hips insistently against her hand.

“Don’t stop,” she orders with a low growl and Mor responds in kind before she plunges her fingers back inside Nesta, her rhythm faster and harder than before. Nesta moans but slides a finger inside Mor as well, crooking it towards her, stroking a spot inside her over and over that causes her back to arch as she cries out in pleasure.

Nesta’s arm wraps around Mor’s body, pulling her down, allowing her to take one of her breasts in her mouth, sucking the nipple, biting down gently until Mor moans again, her whole body trembling violently.

“Nes,” she groans in warning, not sure how much longer she can hold on, how much longer she can keep going. But Nesta only continues what she’s doing with a soft, warm moan around her, bucking her hips harder against her hand and Mor buries her face against her neck. Her lips part against her skin, tongue tasting the sweat and heat that burns between them as she mouths in soundless pleasure.

Their panting falls into sync, Mor gasping down air as Nesta exhales it, with a rhythm like a heartbeat, one pulsing as the other relaxes. Faint, breathy moans swirl in the air around them, passed between their parted lips like the ghost of a kiss pressed against their tongues. Mor could die like this, could let the whole world burn around them with Nesta’s beautiful, fire filled eyes now locked on hers. Together, their bodies writhing as one, their chests heaving together, their hearts pounding in time.

She never wants this moment to end. She never wants the tension to reach its peak. She never wants the wave that’s cresting to break. She wants to remain here, trapped at its apex for the rest of her eternity. She wants to live out the rest of her days with her body entwined around Nesta’s, loving and pleasuring each other, never breaking eye contact as they do. She wants this moment to swallow her whole, to consume her, devour her, destroy her and remake her with parts of Nesta’s soul woven through her own, until they’re truly one.

A few strokes later and Mor’s spine snaps with pleasure as her climax hits her without warning and she bites out Nesta’s name like a shuddering war cry that echoes through the room. At the sound of that she feels Nesta shatter beneath her, arching back and gasping, whispering her name over and over and over again as her orgasm washes through her in rough waves.

Mor opens her eyes again in time to watch Nesta raise her slick fingers to her lips then suck on them. Groaning, Mor tips her head forward until their brows are pressed together. Lifting her trembling hand she places the tips of her fingers at Nesta’s mouth. Nesta raises her heavy, pleasure drenched eyes and deliberately keeps eye contact with Mor as she slowly parts her lips and takes Mor’s fingers into her mouth, sucking herself from them.

Whimpering, Mor leans down and kisses her, tasting her once more on her tongue and moaning faintly in response as her body collapses down on top of Nesta’s. Nesta lets out a soft, rasping chuckle, her hand absently stroking through Mor’s golden hair. “Was that good, princess?” she murmurs against her lips as she lazily kisses her again. Mor can only mumble incoherently as she nods her head, wriggling in closer to Nesta, tucking her body around her.

The two of them lie in quiet, affectionate silence for a long while, their eyes heavy and half-lidded, their bodies thick and limp with the pleasure that’s been wrung from them.

Mor is the first to break the calm silence, “I love you,” she whispers softly against Nesta’s skin. Nesta smiles faintly but doesn’t open her eyes as she continues stroking Mor’s hair, humming contentedly.

Mor isn’t surprised that she doesn’t say the words back to her. She doesn’t always, there’s no obligation for her to do so as an automatic reaction. She says it when she means it and seems afraid that if she says them too much, the words will lose all of their impact, as though she only has so many of them allocated to her for eternity and doesn’t want to waste them. Mor thinks she could say nothing but those words over and over again and she would never tire of them and the thrill that always pulses through her at the sound of them would never dull. But she keeps that to herself. She accepts Nesta as she is and knows her well enough to understand her and that’s all she needs.

Nesta’s hand drops a little lower, softly circling her shoulder and Mor smiles and nuzzles against her happily. She has a habit of doing this after sex, running her fingers over her skin, tracing patterns only she knows. It’s an excuse to keep touching her in the calm that follows the storm of their passion, to keep them connected and it makes Mor’s body sing to feel it every time.

Nesta presses a tender kiss to the side of her head, her arm looped around Mor’s shoulders, holding her close to her, “Will you be all right?” she asks her softly.

“I always am, Nes,” Mor mumbles sleepily, without really thinking about what she’s saying.

Nesta stiffens against her and Mor’s eyes flutter open again as she looks up at her. In spite of the release they’ve both just enjoyed, Nesta’s jaw is tight and her eyes are distant, unfocused. Mor nuzzles a little closer to her, wrapping her arms gently around her waist, “It’s all right, Nes,” she murmurs softly.

Looking up she watches her wife’s eyes darken and realises why a moment later as her fingers slide lower over her stomach, grazing the knotted scar tissue at her abdomen. Mor reaches down and takes Nesta’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together and drawing her away from the most brutal ghost of the violence she had suffered that still lingers on her body.

They go quiet again, Mor nestling gently into Nesta’s side, her eyes starting to close. She’s exhausted and the report that sits unfinished waiting for her on the desk but it can just keep waiting until tomorrow. Sleep is tugging at her and thanks to Nesta she’s finally been able to push the dark, twisted memories of the Court of Nightmares down to a place where they can’t touch her. Nesta’s fiery heart stands guard, blazing in the darkness to ward off the demons that have slunk back into the shadows and don’t dare approach her for fear of her wife’s wrath.

She can still feel Nesta’s rage roiling like a sea whipped into a fury by a storm but she stays quiet. She doesn’t seem anywhere near sleep, she remains sitting up against the pillows, cradling her as she lies quietly against her, eyes closed, allowing the lure of sleep to sink its claws into her and start pulling her gently under. Mor knows that Nesta will stay awake with her until she’s safely wrapped in dreams, and remain watchful to guard against the darkening of those dreams, ready to pull her back to her if they twist themselves into nightmares.

Mor knows better than to try and convince her to sleep herself, or to insist that she doesn’t need this from her. For one thing they would both know it as a lie, and they both make a point not to lie to the other in anything. For another she knows it would do no good. Nesta would give her a soft, insistent snarl and keep doing what she was doing with even more stubborn resolution than before. This is one of the quiet ways that Nesta shows she loves her, a way that no-one else will ever see, a way that even she would not be aware of had she not awakened before, screaming in terror, and found Nesta’s warm, safe arms already cocooned around her, keeping her safe, murmuring to her and stopping her from hurting herself.

So Mor accepts her quiet, guarded sentry as she is. The sense of safety, of belonging, that she has in Nesta’s arms on these nights is something she’s never felt with anyone before, is something she never thought it was possible to feel after spending a day in hell like today. Wriggling forwards she blindly kisses whatever bit of Nesta she comes into contact with first then settles down in her arms.

She’s just beginning to sink into sleep when, “One day,” Nesta growls softly into her hair, her fingers still protectively stroking through it, “I’m going to go to that court and I’m going to kill them all for what they’ve done to you.” Her voice drips cold, deadly promise. No exaggeration, no hollow words or empty promises. One day, she is sure, she will make good on this oath. The moment Mor asks her to she will unleash herself upon that court until there’s nothing left of it but charred bones and smoking ashes.

Mor manages to look up at her, at the steely, stubborn determination, the set of her jaw, the way her hand tightens possessively around her waist. “I know you will,” she whispers back, pressing a soft kiss to her chest where her head is comfortably pillowed. Nesta’s fingers start softly dragging up and down Mor’s spine in a comfortable rhythm as she holds her safe in her arms. “My little hell cat,” she huffs affectionately against her skin as she begins drifting off.

Nesta smiles softly at that and gently kisses Mor’s brow. The last thing she’s aware off before she finally lets herself be dragged down into the welcoming warm oblivion of sleep is Nesta’s voice lovingly promising, “Yours.”

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! please fuel my delighted femslash shipper heart and let me know if you liked this!


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